


Of Dead Trees, Muddy Bites and Hot Baths

by Tink_Wondering



Series: Horsing Around [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, And they probably never will, Horse!Clint, Horse!Phil, Horses, M/M, Reference to animal mistreatment, STILL CRACK, Still Horses, They haven't magically turned human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tink_Wondering/pseuds/Tink_Wondering
Summary: It's Phil's turn to escape, but is grass really greener on the other side? If it is, it's no thanks to Clint.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Horsing Around [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152374
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	Of Dead Trees, Muddy Bites and Hot Baths

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to continue, but here we are... enjoy the crack!

The one time Phil escapes of his own volition is because of Clint, as things usually are Clint’s fault.

A bad electrical storm has hit the region the night before, and their paddock got soaked through. The ground now muddy and slick, but worst of all, Phil’s—and Clint’s, but mainly Phil’s—apple tree was hit by a bolt of lightning. Being the only thing standing out in the middle of an empty field, it’s not that surprising, but its loss is still heartbreaking. Not only has it split in the middle, but the tree and its fruits have also burned down, leaving a black husk and ashes behind.

To Phil’s consternation, Natasha and Nick release them into their enclosure before leaving, not taking the time to deal with the burnt tree. Instead of paying homage to the apple tree, they hurry to town for an appointment with the town’s handyman to repair the barn’s roof which got further damaged by the previous night’s storm. 

The tree’s remains sit sadly in the middle of the paddock as Phil stops next to it to honour it. They may not have known Apple Tree for long, but it was a generous friend, bearing fruits faster than the both of them could eat—and Clint ate a lot—and offering shelter from the sweltering sun when needed.

Clint makes his way to the dead tree, head bent low to gather the last edible apples he can find. When he opens his mouth to start the final feast provided by the now-dead tree, Phil pushes his head with his own, silently asking him to wait. 

“Your fruits were red and plentiful, your leaves were green and lush, and your bark was the perfect roughness to provide a comforting scrub. You will be missed, Apple Tree,” Phil vows, head bowing down low. 

“Why can I hear the capital letters in your voice?” Clint’s tail is swaying restlessly; all he wants is to eat the apples before they go bad, but Phil seems dead set on this impromptu ceremony.

“Because it deserves it. Hush you, now.” Phil flicks his mane at Clint for the clear lack of respect for Apple Tree, bearer of the treasured pome. “And no other apple tree shall be regarded as highly as you.”

“Right, may the great horse in the sky lavish upon you as you have us, blah blah blah. Now, may we eat the bearings of the glorious Apple Tree that once was, oh high representative of the fruit tree?”

Phil huffs, disgruntled, but he does push one of the errant apples in his direction. Clint, finally able to pig out, consume a whole apple quickly before Phil changes his mind, then a second. Before he can eat a third, he notices Phil’s morose state and rolls the last apple closer to him, taking the time to lick it clean of mud. When he’s done, he presses his dirty muzzle to Phil’s neck, his soft whiskers tickling the other horse and effectively attracting his attention.

“Hey, it’s not that bad. Here, take an apple.” For good measure, Clint pulls softly at his mane with his teeth in order to make him look down to where he has left the offering. “And you know there’s still another apple tree just outside the fence, right?”

Phil munches on the apple while he looks over the railing appraisingly.

“I could show you how I got out,” Clint proposes. “It’s not that hard; the current does need to be turned off, but I think the storm last night caused it to overload. I can verify it if you want.”

“No need.” He nudges his muzzle tenderly against Clint’s to show he’s not dismissing him carelessly. “But I suggest you follow me; this could interest you.”

Phil trots peacefully to the end of their paddock, right in front of the apple tree, visible in the distance. Unlike Clint, however, he stops short of being electrocuted and turns 90 degrees to the right to trot along the fence. Clint hurries to catch up with Phil, stepping in time with him, uncertain of what is going on but enjoying the unexpected stroll together. He wonders why Phil didn’t let him test if the current still ran through the fence, though.

When Phil stops next to the fence’s opening, Clint extends his head over the back of the other horse, trying to see what he’s doing. 

(He may or may not use it as an excuse to revel in the play of muscles in the other’s back, putting a little more pressure to feel the soft coat under his throat. He also may or may not be rubbing the underside of his throat against it simply to relish the fact that he can.)

Without warning, Phil suddenly gets to his haunches, displacing Clint who moves out of the way with a grumble.

“Wh—”

Clint is ready to complain, but Phil’s backing up, pulling the barrier with his teeth, and he’s too stunned to finish his sentence. Because. Phil. Opened. The gate.

“Wh—” Clint tries again, but Phil is already strolling away, towards the surviving apple tree. Clint has to speed into a canter to catch up with Phil this time, the shock having put him ten whole beats behind.

“Phil! Don’t tell me you could bypass the fence and get free all this time?” Clint bursts out when they reach the tree.

“Yes,” is Phil’s simple response. And Clint’s completely besotted by Phil, in awe of his easy escape and impressed that he could surprise him like this; so he’s unsurprised when he feels his tail raising up without his accord. Phil tilts his head to one side, seeing the come-hither sign displayed by Clint. The latter does try to lower his tail but is truly unembarrassed by his blatant show of attraction, so he saunters next to Phil and nips one ear affectionately.

“So, when were you going to tell me about you being able to open the gate? Were you ever going to show me?” he whines, his ears flattening against his skull in false sorrow. “Phiiiiil!”

“One day, Clint. And no, Clint. Who knows what you would do with such knowledge? I shouldn’t have shown you anyway, but I really craved a fresh apple that didn’t leave a bitter, burned aftertaste.”

Clint nods his head and extends his head up to catch one of those red apples, but Phil once again nudges him out of the way.

“You shouldn’t,” he explains. “You’ve eaten enough today, and you’ll just get bloated if you eat another.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No, but we both know how deadly your digestion can be…”

Phil plucks one apple with his mouth and is already trekking back to the paddock before Clint can think of a crafty comeback. So he does the next best thing he knows how; he chomps on a mouthful of mud, rushes to Phil’s side, and as the mature, sophisticated horse who won at least two awards that he is, he spits it out in Phil’s mane.

When the drooly, goopy mixture tangles in his hair, Phil squeals and rears back on his hind legs. Hearing the high-pitched noise, Clint instantly knows he bit more than he could chew. He softly nickers to calm Phil down, hoping he hasn’t damaged their relationship beyond repair; he knows the pride Phil puts in his mane and he shouldn’t have done that, he acted without thinking this through.

Clint steps back when Phil begins to shake his head back and forth to try to dislodge most of the sludge stuck in his mane, and he can hear a growl, seconds away from turning into a scream.

“I’m sorry, Phil. Please, I didn’t mean it!” And Clint is brought back to his younger days as a foal, before Natasha, when the handler liked to use a whip to force them to do what he wanted; a crack fending in the air, pain and screaming. Even now, it echoes in his ears, and he doesn’t know if it’s him or Phil, but it must be him because Phil is rhythmically blowing air in his face.

“Clint.” The calm note of his name delivered by Phil finally breaks through the dark cloud of his past. “Breathe, Clint.” Phil draws deep breaths and exhales them deeply and audibly in Clint’s face. “It’s alright. I’m here. You’re safe,” Phil encourages him, a deep breath interspersing every word, and Clint finally fully calms down. “Hey, gorgeous, you’re back,” Phil whinnies happily, telling Clint how scared the other also was. 

Clint presses his forehead firmly against Phil, just to make sure that he’s really still there.

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to blow up on you like that.”

“No, it’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have reacted as badly as I did.”

“Phil, no! I know how important your mane is to you. I’m the one at fault, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“How about we decide we’re both wrong here?”

Clint is ready to argue when an idea strikes him.

“Fine, but let me make it up to you.”

He leads Phil towards the house, hoping that Natasha and Nick still have another hour to spend in town. He doesn’t want to be found out of the paddock again, or they’ll change the door for sure and Phil won’t have a chance to show him how he got out—he doesn’t doubt he’ll get Phil to tell him his secrets one day.

They stop next to the house, and as he hoped, the window to the bathroom was left open, just big enough so that he can fit his head through, finding himself directly in the bath, the valve next to his head. It takes some contortion, but he succeeds in turning on the water.

“Get in there, Phil,” Clint says once his head is back out. Phil seems hesitant but does as told. Clint can hear a soft groan and takes it that Phil enjoys the running water. “I had Nat to brush the dirt out of my mane when I last was in there,” Clint yells over the sound of running water. “Just shake your head to dislodge most of it, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

When Phil comes back out, most of the goop is out of his hair, but Clint still takes the time to brush out the remaining slime with his teeth, nipping tenderly at his neck and ears when he feels like it. If Phil is against it, he doesn’t say anything, and the soft groans and shivers don’t discourage Clint.

After what seems an eternity, Phil once again dislodges him—and really, again? What a party pooper—pushing him in his flank towards the enclosure. When they’re back inside, Phil refuses to show him how he did it—and Clint curses himself for not having paid more attention before—but he softens the refusal with a faintly uttered “Next time”, so Clint counts it as a win.

(When Natasha and Nick come back, they find the two horses in the paddock, lounging in a patch of grass dried by the midday sun. Clint is lying on his back, his front legs bracketing Phil leaning sideways over his chest, his own front legs folded underneath him, their heads bent together, foreheads softly touching.

“Nat, I think we have gay horses,” Nick says, looking askance at the two horses cuddling.

“You’re just realizing it now? They’ve been gay from the start,” Natasha responds with a knowing smile.

“Right.” He’s dubious, but he’s not strong enough to disagree with the woman, so he simply continues on his way in the house to store the few groceries they bought during their trip into town. “Nat!” he yells from inside. “Why is there mud all over the bathroom and the water running?”)


End file.
